Athens
The city of Pallas Athena is in the midst of a great rebirth, as if Zeus himself had decreed it. Had I not seen it with my own eyes, I would have bet my last euro against Athens meeting the Olympic challenge, and I would have lost. Big time. The place is bustling and busy, sunny as hell but easy on the humidity, and the girls – yes, young Greek women – are suddenly among the most attractive in Europe. I kid you not. Greek girls were always among the sexiest in the world – there was no such thing as a Greek female who was lousy in bed – but they were also quite ugly, short, fat and terribly hairy. Believe it or not, and here Zeus must have pulled quite a trick, they have been transformed overnight, and are now tall, chic, slim, with lovely legs and – hopefully – still great in the sack. (What an irony it would be if the newly beautiful lost their special quality. That’s what I would call a real Greek tragedy.)
Be that as it may, how can one dislike a city where a demonstration takes place daily. The first one I encountered on my way in from the airport were the prostitutes, gathered outside the Interior Ministry screaming abuse against the proposed reforms.
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